Short Essays on the Catholic Faith and the Modern World

Patient yet Athirst

“In one way, of course, God has given us the Morning Star already: you can go and enjoy the gift on many fine mornings if you get up early enough. What more, you may ask, do we want? Ah, but we want so much more— something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and the mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.” –CS Lewis

Faith is charity that cannot yet see, and hope is charity that cannot yet possess. They are virtues that trust that what we desire to see and possess can indeed be seen and possessed for a human heart only yearns because a Person is wooing it. And although we cannot yet peak behind the veil, we do know that He is waiting on the other side. Until the day comes, if we endure, when we are wed to our Lord, we must daily increase our longing, which is only charity that has not yet embraced its Lover. And just as the longing of a human heart is the path taken to the Most Sacred Heart, so Mary’s womb is the way to Her Son. She is the one who causes us to yearn for her Son; or rather, her Son causes us to yearn for Him by drawing us through His Mother’s womb. She is the Queen of Romance, and it is under her mantle that all artists work.

When we see, read, or hear beautiful things, we are not coming into contact with imitations of God, but imitations of Mary, which are emanations (in a sense) from God. The most powerful moment of beauty you have ever experienced is a shadow of Mary’s beauty, a beauty that transports beyond itself by stirring up the longing of a human heart. We do not merely want to become one with the beauty we see, but to actually pass through it, beyond it, to the source of the beauty we see. We do not merely want to become one with Mary, but pass through her and beyond her to the Cause of her beauty. It is as if Christ is throwing pieces of his own beauty before us (and what else can this be but tossing pearls before swine?), and we charge after them, at first frantically pursuing the things themselves. Eventually, though, we raise our gaze when we realize a person has been tossing these beautiful gifts before us. The gifts are given so that we might seek the gift-giver. And in this vision, the whole earth becomes a sacrament. Every walk, conversation, or glance becomes a mediation between Heaven and earth. This is what the Incarnation does. Christ is no longer only Himself. He now has a full body made of countless souls, and on this giant body rivers, mountains, and gardens overflow.

Yet all is not revealed, all is not fulfilled. In this eschatological dream (for it is not yet a reality), both veiling and unveiling are taken up together in the Most Sacred Heart, which at once hides the divine nature and reveals it, and the blood from this Heart pours out to fertilize the earth, drawing all creation up through the cross and into this divine flirtation. But until the final consummation, we stand at the crossroads with one foot on earth and one in heaven. Before us, the Lamb is both veiled and unveiled, visible and hidden, intimate and distant; before Him, we are both sorrowful and joyful, humble and triumphant, patient yet athirst. It is the dance before the final embrace.